November Gratitude

November, the month of Gratitude.  I see all of your Facebook posts popping up with your gratitude and I read them and I smile.  I’m drawn to look every day for things to be grateful for, every day in November and it makes me happy.  Why?

As a little girl, I was a free thinker, someone confident and satisfied with my world around me.  I think I was pretty happy most of the time though I have been told that I was pretty stubborn too.  It wasn’t until I was older, around ten, and my family made a significant move many states away that I became more cynical, and for lack of a better word, sad.  It was hard being the new girl in a small town that thought me strange.

I spent a lot of years feeling pretty sorry for myself.  Suddenly this confident, bubbly girl, was sad and shy and feeling pretty badly about herself.  If only people could be kinder, if only I could be prettier, if I could just speak without a Midwest accent, if maybe I could be more clever, then maybe I could be happier.

Flash forward thirty years.  I’m still me, only more chubby (I blame it on the six kids, or maybe the gluten, all the beautiful wonderful gluten,) I still stumble on my words and once in a while that accent pops back out to the teasing of my kids, my skin still breaks out and sometimes people are still mean.  But I am happy, far from shy and rarely feel bad about myself, (for very long anyways,) and I wonder what has changed.

I have worked on those things in life that I have control over and tried to let the other things go.  I’ve made conscious effort to look at myself in the mirror every day and see me how God sees me.  I’ve tried to remember who I am and how much I am loved.  And I’ve made out right choices to be happy, trying to teach my children the same, that happiness is a choice.  And it is, but I have found over the years that the world can be mean, and scary, and downright sad.  And things are probably going to continue to keep going that way or worse.  I can’t let the world decide for me whether or not I’m going to be happy, but I can decide for me and the best way that I know how to do this is by finding gratitude.

Instead of being bored because it was that Wednesday again yesterday when I take Stephanie to the orthodontist and my whole day goes to driving and ortho and my house stays a mess from the night before, dishes undone, laundry unwashed, I can see the blessing of hours of alone time that I get to spend with my sweet quiet daughter whose voice is sometimes drowned out by her more boisterous sisters and noisy brother. Those are moments and shared talks that maybe would never have come about any other way. 

I can see hard things as opportunities to grow and moments of service as time to reflect my love for God instead of add to the list of must dos.  I can watch with amazement as a spider spins a web and dust swirls in whatever pattern I last washed it off in on the front porch tables instead of grumping at the spider web too high to reach and the table once again needing washing even though I just did it two days ago. 

I can find a million things to be grateful for if I make an effort to find them.  It’s amazing how many things are beautiful, and kind, and happy when I am looking for them.  It’s amazing how much joy can be found when I’m looking for it.

So keep those Facebook posts coming of your gratitude.  Keep me looking each day for things to smile and laugh and love about and help make this crazy sad world a happier place and when December comes, and January, (that month that just seems to lag on forever in the cold and lack of any happy holidays,) comes keep looking for those gratitude moments too, and share them.  Share them with everyone you see and you know what, things will change.  Maybe not the whole world, but people around you, and me, your Facebook buddy, I will change by your example too and before you know it that sad little person inside that keeps trying to pop its head out when things get sad or mean or lonely, that little whiney person that lives in all of us will learn to smile too.

It is not enough!

How do I describe the many heartbroken tears that I have cried over the last few years, how do I describe the tears that I shed while on my knees today?  Ugly.  Mascara running down my cheeks ugly.  But in reality that is how it should be.  My heart has broken so many times as I look at the world around me and the world around my tender daughters.  For those of you who know me you know that this is a topic that I am passionate about, my girls have had more articles and life’s lessons about it taught to them than their ABC’s and 123’s but it isn’t enough.

Some call it my opinion, my stubbornness, my dictatorship and I should respect them their own “opinion.”  But how can I?  This isn’t just a thought or an idea of mine, this is a truth, and not just my truth but the whole world’s truth even if people try to say otherwise, or rather “YELL” otherwise.

I have recently become a grandma, yes a very young, fun, classy grandma!  Brantley Bear is the most amazing little boy.  I would share his picture with you and you would see deep dimples on a face of the sweetest little boy that only smiles all of the time, but I know some would use his little face to protest against me.  His little infectious laugh and ever smiling face lights a room and calls others to find joy, to be happy. 

I remember the first time my husband and I got to go with my son and his beautiful wife to see our Little Guy on the ultra sound.  He wiggled and moved so much they couldn’t find out his gender and I remember thinking is there anything more amazing, more perfect, or more holy than this?  It was a miracle, he is a miracle.

Now if my daughter in law had been in the middle of something that she thought more important than being a mom, or if heaven forbid she had even been brutally raped, Brantley Bear would still have been that same amazing, perfect, and yes wiggly guy on the ultra sound.  Nothing about how he was created could change what he was or what he is, Holy!

Now I am not going to go into the proof, the pictures, the articles, the testimonies of so many.  I’m not going to try to prove my point.  So many before me have already done that, and if your heart still hasn’t soften to this Truth than nothing I say will change that, what I am going to say is this… It is not enough.  It is not enough that I kneel every day and ask God to heal this world and heal our hearts.  It is not enough that I ask him every day to help me teach my daughters about how sacred they are and how Holy the act of creation is even if sometimes it results from the sins and unholy acts of others.  It is not enough that I share stories and articles on Facebook and preach love.  None of it is enough until every last baby gets the right to live like my Brantley Bear or like every one of my children when they were conceived did.  It is not enough!

In a world where the left and the right and everything in between speaks loud and yells until the quiet truths of our Father in Heaven is drown out by their pollution, it is not enough to quietly shine for him.  We have to do more, we have to be loud, we have to be heard.  Millions of little Brantley Bears need us to be their Saviors, and quite frankly our Savior, our Redeemer needs us to be His voice above all the other wicked voices calling good evil and evil good.

This day, and every day until it is enough and abortion is done away with I will be that voice trying to do my best to yell above the others.  And I will not shy away from those who wish to yell right back at me, I won’t be afraid that I might lose friends and that my truth, The truth, might be unpopular.  Brantley Bear deserves all of our voices, all of them do and if your voice isn’t being heard, yell louder, stand taller, be braver!  Fill your lungs with the words, fill Facebook and Twitter and every aspect of everything around you with this truth.  You may tire of my rant and you might even tire of my posts, but until it is done, until It Is Enough, I will stand for this truth, His truth, and no one will silence me.

Will you stand with me?  Are you Brave enough?  Are you Passionate enough?  Will you fight for all of the Brantley Bears that no one else is willing to fight for? 

It Is Not Enough!

Random Acts

Yesterday was a crazy day in Angi World.  Most of you know that Jason and I run a small home business.  For over twenty years Jason has run a mobile D.J. company that ranges from small weddings to small arena size sound.  It has grown over the years as customers have asked us for things that my brilliant husband has easily come up with.  Giant movies in the park, karaoke nights at the Wilkinson Center and Photo Booth for parties and weddings and corporate gigs.  Yesterday for me was along the lines of corporate gig.

I meet a lot of people doing Photo Booth and I am immersed in a lot of different cultures.  I love talking to people and laughing with them, because that is what Photo Booth is….fun.

Yesterday I was at a beautiful park in Salt Lake, Sugar House, and it is huge.  Finding the pavilion I was to set up at took a moment but once I got there a whole herd of people unloaded me right to my spot.  Amazing… the lady in charge was so nice and the people who worked for her completely concerned for my comfort.  Again…amazing!  I met so many interesting people and when the rain came threatening my gear a million hands were there instantly to break it all down and get it into my car, without me asking.  Again amazing.

Traffic, during rush hour getting home was ridiculous, but for the first time in freeway history people were nice and patient.  I got home 1 and ½ hours early because of the rain and was able to empty the car with the kids, send girls off to young women’s, drive Sam to scouts, get gas and take Suzy out to her friend's in Fairfield so that she could get up bright and early, 3:00 a.m. early, to take her pig to the State Fair. 

Crazy day, and that doesn’t even include all that I did that morning.  Driving home from Fairfield around 7:30 that night I stopped at our local grocery store to get milk and bread for the next day and grabbed a few things on sale.  On the drive there, alone in my car, I said a heartfelt gratitude prayer that the day in all of its craziness had gone so well and I had met so many nice people.  I went through the grocery store in kind of a tired daze but it was all good.  Unloaded the groceries and got into the car and drove out of my parking spot when I noticed a little sticky note stuck to my windshield.  When I got out to see what it was I was certain someone had bumped into my car and was leaving me their information, although I hadn’t noticed any damage.

The note had two simple words in orange marker, “You’re Awesome.”  Now possibly this was put on there by someone I know, but more likely it was put there by someone who just wanted to brighten someone’s day.  I smiled.  The day had been so crazy with the monsoon and crazy work and mom schedule and all, but so good in so many ways, but now it truly was awesome.  I got home to an empty house, kids gone and Jason working at BYU, but I took the note inside determined to tell everyone about my happy little surprise.  I fell asleep and forgot.

This morning after breakfast Sam went to take the garbage out to the road for pick up day and when he came back inside he ran to tell me, “You know what Mom, I’m Awesome.” 

He was so excited to tell me about the note that he saw when coming back in from taking the garbage out that was sitting on our dining room table which is right inside the sliding glass door.  He was smiling from ear to ear and then I told him my story.  So not only did I have an awesome end to my night, Sam had an awesome start to his day, and through it all I had a great lesson to teach him about random acts of kindness and what they can do for a person.  And what if, what if my last night was actually a long horrible one and Sam’s morning was a jumbled crazy one, well then that random act of kindness would have brought some joy in a life that was struggling.  You never know what joy you can spread, whether it is adding to the goodness that is already there or bringing a light in an otherwise dark storm, it matters people.

Oh, and thank you, you random someone for making two people smile today, and last night. 

Choosing the Good

So I woke up this morning after the craziest dream and I’m gonna share it with you.  Don’t worry there is a point to it…it just might take a moment for you to understand the reasoning behind it.

In my dream I had several unsightly zits on my face and I was off and about to some place spectacular where people would see me.  Suzy had taken my cover-up stick and so I borrowed hers.  Well in the real life tendency I have to sensitivities in my skin I, in this dream, reacted to Suzy’s cover-up stick, breaking out in a rash and eventually blistering and bleeding, skin peeling off of my face.

Yes, I know, stupid dream, but what does it have to do with anything?  Absolutely nothing, but that is what has been going through my head over and over this morning, every gory, gruesome bit, when it should have been amazing things that happened last week, like…

Lunch with my mom that turned into the whole day and dinner that night.

Beautiful dirt for the garden spot bought for only $20.00 for the whole truck load.

Suzy winning third place in her FFA science project at Richfield that she was not expecting.

Nan getting her FFA state degree also at said FFA getaway in Richfield.

Nan off on her date with Ethan for her prom and all the girly fun of shopping and dress fitting and fingernail painting and picture taking that goes along with that…not to mention the splendid time that she had and all while looking like a princess the whole time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or, finally, the fact that Jason and I had the busiest day ever Saturday with gigs and life and somehow we made it through it spectacularly.  And by the way the next day was daylight saving time resulting in only 3 1/2 very grumpy hours of sleep for me and I taught Relief Society that day through a very groggy mind and the Stake Relief Society Presidency decided to show up, but you know what…although it for sure was not my best lesson ever, it definitely wasn’t my worse and I didn’t make a complete fool out of myself, and that too was a pretty excellent thing too.

So why does this stupid dream keep going through my head instead of these wonderful things?  Why do the jokes of presidential candidates that are running for president keep haunting me and the unending ache that I feel when I think of all those innocent babies that keep being murdered in the name of feminism keep clouding my mind or the hunger and war and famine and wickedness and callousness of society keep hounding me instead of the wonderful things in life, like for one, I am going to be a grandmother the end of July to the fabulous Brantley that I have already gotten to see on the ultra sound machine with my husband and my son and his beautiful wife.  What about the neighbors and ward members that I love and the friendships of such beauty with people all over that I hold, or the fact that I have the most sexy, amazing, kind, generous, fun husband in the whole world.  I am a member of Christ’s church and have every blessing that they had in ancient times that go right along with that, including temple marriage and the perfect outline of how to live a blessed happy life written for me in sacred scriptures.  Why does my mind gravitate more to the sad things in life than the beautiful?

I think it is human nature, and don’t get me wrong, if no one, me included, never thought on those sad things nothing would ever change, nothing would ever get better and that too would be a very big sin, but I think an even bigger sin is in losing ourselves to self-pity, to doubt, to harsh things of life and neglecting to be grateful and even very happy for the millions and even billions of blessings that we have in life.  Shouldn’t we be mindful of all the good around us, shouldn’t we be grateful?  Shouldn’t we hold ourselves responsible for the attitude that we choose to share with the rest of the world, especially the ones we love the most, our family?  Aren’t I showing ingratitude when I don’t choose to be happy in life, and not just kinda, but truly and really happy in life when I have all those millions and billions of blessings?  Don’t I have some responsibility in choosing that happiness and by so doing sharing it with the rest of the world?

One of the prayers this Sunday in our church service mentioned those around the world that were praying also and the spirit that they sent around the world.  All those millions praying in different churches and different religions all over the world because it was the Sabbath softening the world just a little by their faith that day.  Doesn’t me choosing to be happy and looking to my God given blessings each and every day send a little peace out into the world and if more and more people chose to be happy and look to their blessings, wouldn’t the compilation of those millions of happy vibes soften the world just a little?

Don’t forget those other sad and important things, because it is up to you to help change them, all of us together thinking and praying and working and enlightening others on those sad and sinful things in the world will compile together to help to change them, but a happy, grateful heart along the way can only add to the change that together can soften the whole entire world.

Now…here is a picture of Nan’s most fabulous desert that she had on her amazing prom date to hold you over for one more day and help to sweeten those happy thoughts you and I are going to choose for ourselves today.

The Secret to the Perfect, Imperfect Marriage

Ever have something so perfect and wonderful and good that you wished that you could share it with the rest of the world?  I have.  Sometimes it scares me a little that it is too perfect and therefore something must come along to pull it all down.  Other times I feel guilt because nobody else has what I have and why do I deserve something so wonderful.

Jason says I’m crazy when I say it.  Really.  Why should I feel guilty for having something amazing, even if few others do?  Wondering what I am talking about?

So last night I watched the show “Fresh off the Boat.”  Not life changing, it never is meant to be, but sometimes when I can’t fall asleep something light and fun like that show helps.  Anyhoo…it was their Valentines show and the middle boy who is a ladies man (he’s like 11 so it’s very innocent and cute) was making a love wall, hanging all of his valentines up on the wall and leaving them up for the whole year.  He was really sad later in the show when his parents had an empty house with no kids and instead of doing a gooey lovey dovey Valentines Night they stayed home and did their taxes.  Broke his heart but the neighbor man next door taught him that true love shows up in little things and not always in grandiose ways.

The idea was sweet, and it had a good message, but I couldn’t help but think of what Jason’s little things were, verses theirs.  Like the fact that he carries around a blanket for me in his car trunk just in case I might get cold.  How he knows the best places for me to go potty any trip we take because he knows I kinda hate public bathrooms.  How I have every gadget I could ever imagine for my kitchen cause he knows how much I love to cook.  How a section of our bedroom, his side of the bed even, has my stationary bike in it because he knows it is the best angle for the television and he knows I hate to workout outside cause it’s cold.  How he gets mad if the kids let me shovel the walk or driveway because he knows I can’t keep my core warm and I’ll shiver for hours after.  The times he gets the shower warm ahead of time just for me and a towel laid out because, well…the whole cold thing again.  He calls me to share his day with me all day long and he rushes home to me at night.  He snuggles and holds me nonstop and chases me around the house to get kisses and hugs because he needs me near, and he doesn’t even care who sees.  Even going to the store he drags me along because he knows how much I miss him when he is gone to work all day. 

Then I’ve thought about the big things that he does.  He never ever looks at other women and turns his head if they are dressed inappropriately.  And in no way form or circumstance does he ever let me talk bad about myself.  He tells me that I am beautiful, or sexy, or perfect about a million times a day and better yet he absolutely means it.  He says sorry first when I hold a grudge and he covers me up at night when he comes home late from a gig and I am already asleep in bed and my covers have slid off.  He holds me and listens and remembers everything.  He tells the kids how wonderful I am and expects them to treat me like a queen.  He goes to church and holds my hand or wraps his arm around me while we sit side by side, no children in between us, because, he taught me when our children were very little, he loves me and they should know that.  And I am the first person that he wants to share something with when he’s had a bad day, or even better yet when something wonderful has happened.

Now can you see why sometimes I feel so guilty because I have something so amazing?  But this is where I will share this little secret with you…are you ready…we, Jason and I, didn’t just happen upon this perfection accidently, and sometimes, some days, it’s lacking ever so slightly in perfection.  We’ve been married twenty two most beautiful, wonderful, amazing, incredibly hard years.  Sometimes me squeezing the tooth paste tube all wonky has driven him nuts, and sometimes him leaving his bags all over the living room coach has made me pull out my hair, but at the end of the day, none, not ever one of those things have ever been deal breakers.  Not the year before Jason figured out that he was Diabetic and his moodiness was really picking at me.  Not the year that my hormones were off when Luke was a baby and one minute I was crying, the next minute I was yelling and the next minute I was sulking.  Not when we had a teenage boy that was driving us to our wits ends and at each other’s throats and we didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.  Not when we had a very sick baby threatening to die on us every second and neither of us knew the right way to handle the stress of the fear.  Not even when I was on bed rest going stir crazy and Jason being pulled in every direction at once being both mom and dad. 

None of those things, or bigger things that pull at every marriage has ever been deal breakers.  And why is that, you ask?  How did we overcome that and flourish and build this perfect imperfect marriage.  Because…ready for this…we chose to.  There you have it, the secret to the perfect, most wonderful, beautiful, happy ooey gooey marriage is found in one word, choice.

Jason has always been better at this choice thing.  He chooses to forgive so much faster than me, he chooses to love even when I’m the least loveable, and he chooses so completely to think of me every moment of his entire day.  But he has taught me that choices, those moments of serving one another, of loving one another are the most important choices that we will ever make even if sometimes they are the hardest ones.  And you know what, the more that you make these choices the easier they become until your life is wonderful and amazing and perfect, well until something else hard comes along and then you have to make all those choices all over again.  But those choices are worth it and even if the other person isn’t choosing them you can, and hopefully somewhere down the road, they like me, will learn to make those choices too, because we are human and believe it or not we are completely capable, each and every one of us of making those wonderful though sometimes very hard choices to love, and forgive, because let’s face it, every one of us needs forgiveness sometimes.

So yes, I’m gonna make my ooey gooey Valentine’s Day wall to last all year in my house.  You may not recognize it as such when you see it, but I will always know what it is every time that I walk past it.  It’s this great big mirror in my bathroom, and in the right light it reflects back at me all the emotions and thoughts and choices that I have made every day and every day that I am making the right ones, the loving ones, I’m adding to that valentines wall that makes up this so wonderful and ever changing marriage that is all my own, well and Jason’s too.

 

More Grandpa Dinkels

Let me tell you about my Grandpa.

Louis Frederick Dinkel.

No this is not a blog on genealogy, though I know that genealogy is important.  This is quite literally about my grandpa and love, his love, God’s love, perfect love.

When I was a little girl we would go visit my grandpa, and my little bit crazy grandma.  Grandma was fun, she would buy us things, expensive things.  As a little kid, flashy things were exciting, but Grandpa was better.  I knew he loved me, loved me more than anyone or anything.  I remember him holding me tall to watch the coo coo clock.  I remember him taking me for walks and stopping to pick a rose from a neighbor’s flowers (OOPS) for my crazy grandma, and I remember how he looked at her, with love in his eyes.

I remember walking through the door every summer for the first time and him kissing me and saying, “This one looks just like me,” as he continued down the line of all of my brothers and sisters, even my adopted brother who is black.  I remember him taking us for rides to get ice cream in his old station wagon, and I remember him complaining to my grandmother every time that she bought him a new pair of fancy shoes that his old ones were just fine.  And I remember him shrugging and putting them on for her as he smiled at her with love.

I remember walking into his business and watching as he greeted each and every employee knowing everything about them and showing them proudly his spectacular grandchildren, and I remember thinking that I was someone special to all of those that worked for my grandpa, because I was his.

I remember walking into a restaurant or diner and feeling the room change and the crowd soften because the light that flowed from my grandpa lightened all that was around him, and for a moment peace spread through any place he went.  I remember his house covered in pictures of the Savior and crucifixes and holy bibles.  And I remember knowing his love for God was greater than anything that I had ever known.

And when I got older, I began to realize that crazy grandma was really very sick/bipolar/schizophrenic hurtful grandma.  Grandma wasn’t nice grandma, grandma wasn’t loving wife or mother grandma.  She was hurtful and cruel and sad grandma, and my grandfather loved her perfectly even with so much hurt.  He brought her shakes and flowers and slippers and she would say thank you one moment and be cruel the next, but my grandpa loved my grandma till the very, very end of his life.  Why, you ask, because he loved the Savior and he was as much like the Savior as perhaps possible in this life. 

When I got married and started raising my babies I always thought of my grandfather who only met my oldest once when he was only a few months old.  It’s been so many years since he has died, so many, but I still think of him every single day.

It took me so many years to learn to find joy, joy in everything.  It took me so so many years to be the glass is half full kind of gal, but now that I have lived so many years that way I can’t help but understand the kind of peace and joy that comes from finding something so great.  Sometimes my heart physically hurts from the joy that I feel.  And when it does I think of my grandfather.  How do I become like him?  How do I take that joy and peace and love and let it radiate out of me so that the room, wherever that room might be, softens from me walking into it, lightens just a little from me being there?  How do I share that love, that peace and joy so perfectly like my grandpa did?

He shared it so perfectly that this granddaughter of his, so many years later still smiles and softens for thinking on him.  He loved my Savior, his Savior, and he loved people even in their most hurtful states and he changed his little granddaughter for forever because of his perfect love.

Now if only there were enough Grandpa Dinkels around, maybe the whole world would change, because their God’s light, would be so great.  Maybe, just maybe, that is what this world needs, more of my grandpa Dinkels.  Maybe then eternity would be right now.

http://www.nedcoelectronics.com/pages/tribute.asp a tribute a little about him from his death.

 

The Devil's Business

I’ve tried to sit back, I really have.  I’ve tried to be the polite one who shared her views quietly as I blogged about sweet things, of hope and love, and God.  I’ve shared small quiet opinions on Facebook as I have shared others blogs and posts and by doing so I thought that I was being polite and kind.  I thought that I was doing my best to spread joy by not spreading controversy, but today as I was reading yet another blog by another person other than myself who seemed to put everything that I felt so perfectly into words for me, I realized that I wasn’t being polite or kind, I was being cowardly and hiding the testimony that is me, even if it might offend someone.  I need to use my voice even if all it accomplishes is to make someone mad.  I cannot profess to have a testimony if the only way I share it is in the quiet confines of my safe little home with others who feel the same way as me.  No fear of rejection, maybe, but no voice in a world that so desperately needs more.

Most of you know that I am a mother of six crazy kids.  I try to be a great mother, my most important job, but I am human and fail quiet regularly, and my kids are human and fail quiet regularly too…that being said, I’ve mostly stuck to the pleasant times in my life, or the testimony building times in my life in this blog.  Some of you may not know that I at times struggled to have those sweet kiddos of mine.  After Luke we had a very unexpected pregnancy, he was only three months old, but after lots of, “oh craps”, we accepted, moved on and even became excited.  Three months later on the move back to Utah I lost said baby.  At that point that baby was already mine and the loss was hard.  It took 18 months more of trying and praying and several early miscarriages later before we conceived Jenny.

Joy of Joys, let me tell you when Jenny was born.  That was until 5 ½ weeks later when she contracted RSV which led to pneumonia, which led to several days in the hospital which led to Jenny turning blue, which led to our doctor rushing to get her breathing which led to said doctor who was also our Bishop at the time and Jason giving Jenny a blessing and little sweet tiny baby Jenny and me riding frantically in an ambulance to Utah Valley Hospital where she almost died.  Seeing my baby with pick lines and tubes and oxygen for days struggling to live when in reality she should not have, crushed my heart, not to mention the next two years of her fighting to get her immune system back.

Flash forward 6 plus years to my little Stephanie.  5 ½ weeks away until her birth and suddenly my blood pressure is racing and her little body starts actually losing weight in the womb in the month that it should be gaining the most.  3 ½ weeks of bed rest and one false alarm emergency trip in an ambulance to Utah Valley Hospital later and sweet, very tiny, Stephanie is born, complete with the cord wrapped several times tightly around her neck and all, all 5 ½ pounds of her with fiery wild red hair and the sweetest little face ever.

 

 

 

I’ve had sister in laws who have struggled much worse than me, trying so desperately, going from one doctor to the next, spending day and night on their knees just to get the chance to be a mother.  And the heartbreak that I have seen on their faces says it all, childhood is a gift, a gift that so many don’t seem to understand.

Where am I going with this, well, I think you all know?  When Jason and I were first married and first pregnant with our first baby Luke, we lived far from home in a state very unfamiliar for us without the use of a cell phone and long distance being so much money.  I was young and naive and completely unaware of what to do next.  Looking for a place to come across discretely a pregnancy test I looked in the phone book and came across the name, “Planned Parenthood.”  Now this was 22 years ago and I was very innocent and in my mind those words described me perfectly, someone trying to plan parenthood.  I would like to say the pregnancy test was free…but it wasn’t.  It cost the same as it would have in the store, but it was discrete and very quiet.  Had I known then what I know now, I never would have gone.

Planned Parenthood is the Devils business.  By walking through those doors I was in the Devil’s house even if not aware.  And times have changed and the world has grown and eyes have been opened and everyone is aware, well accept maybe our very little ones who are still slightly protected from this world.  No one in America can any longer claim innocence like I could 22 years ago, media and the internet have changed that.  We all know who Planned Parenthood is and what they are about.  They are about the Devil’s work, destroying innocent lives before they have a chance to flourish or fail per their God given right, and destroying the most sacred institution in this world the family.  If you enter Planned Parenthood you are entering the Devil’s house.  If you work for Planned Parenthood you are working for the Devil’s business.  And if you have any excuses for it you are making excuses for the Devil himself, you are doing the Devil’s work.

There is no longer a grey line, a magic haze between right and wrong that is easy to sway one way or another to fit our whims and selfish desires.  When Planned Parenthood was ousted as baby killers that line was no longer grey but black and white and when the media hit with the sale they are making of these innocent victims body parts that only come after the horrible murder of ones too tiny to fight for themselves the magic haze disappeared entirely letting light, or maybe more accurately darkness shine in on the whole deal.

If you’ve ever been a mother, you cannot look at a little newborn in your arms and not know, if even just for one little second, that there is something, or someone greater working in the making of that child.  And if you’ve ever been a mother struggling with the fear or even loss of losing a child, you cannot logically say that that life didn’t matter, even in the few minute cells that it was in its very first beginnings.  And if you’ve ever been a mother struggling so hard and praying so long just for the chance to be a mother, you cannot possibly understand how someone, shellfish or inconvenienced or hurt could ever think it alright to destroy something so precious.

I don’t care who you are, what your views are, or how I might hurt your feelings…if you support Planned Parenthood, well then you are doing your little bit today to help the Devil along his way.  And if I keep shut about how I feel about it, well maybe, just maybe I am doing the same.